


The World, Off Axis

by jemmasimmns (laurellance)



Series: The World, Off Axis [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurellance/pseuds/jemmasimmns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is the river that separates Life and Death. It has always stood as a boundary, as as reminder of what has come and what will always come. It stands as an unmovable landmark.</p><p>Until.</p><p>Until the Brotherhood of Freedom defies that balance, destroys it. They topple the landmark: the riverbeds of time overflow, the line between life and death fades. The deaths of the wizarding wars, and the time both before and between the wars start coming back in waves. </p><p>In the ruins, there is a message. The Inquisitor is always watching.</p><p>Meanwhile at The Phoenix, Draco Malfoy watches. He watches, and he waits. The balances that time had once allowed are now gone, and thus he is given a chance at redemption- if he chooses to take it. He knows that no matter what happens, things will never be the same. The balance of time has totally changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The group treks up to the top of the hill. The leader, a tall man with cold eyes, searches the hill as if looking for a gateway, a portal. "Macmillan! Where did Rookwood say the portal was?"

 

A man with thinning blond hair drags with him an old man. The man, Macmillan, replies hesitantly. "My lord, he never said. He only said-"

 

"Said what, Macmillan? Don't be cowardly." The leader of the group turns to face his lieutenant, and his near colourness eyes betray nothing. Then, turning to the other members of his group, he tells them: "Interrogate the other Death Eaters. I want to know how to enter the portal, and they may know. However if they don't... I want nothing recognizable to remain when day comes." Turning to Macmillan again, he asks: "What did Rookwood say, Macmillan?"

 

"He-He said that he would rather die than tell a psychotic maniac his greatest secret." The man's face pales as he speaks.

 

The tall man's face betrays no emotion. "Give Rookwood to me, Macmillan. I will take care of him from this point onwards."

 

"My lord- but what do I do?" Macmillan asks, almost hesitantly.

 

"Remind the others of their duty, and remember- The only good Death Eater is a dead Death Eater." The man says without turning. Macmillan scurries away, supervising his comrades.

 

He turns to the old man laying on the ground. He is bound and his body is covered in filth, as well as scratches. He kicks the old man in the stomach, and the body stirs slightly. He kicks the body again. This time, the old man groans in agony. "Awake Rookwood- I have a few questions for you. You will answer them truthfully, or you will suffer."

 

The man, wandlessly and wordlessly, forces Augustus Rookwood in a prayer-like position. The old man, Augustus Rookwood, has a cut on his face but otherwise looks fine. "What is it you want?"

 

The man smiles. "You know very well what I want, Rookwood."

 

The old man shakes his head. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

 

The man smiles, almost as if he was talking to a child. "You do, Rookwood. Where is the portal located?"

 

The old man pales, as he realises what the other is asking. "I would rather die than tell you."

 

"I repeat: where is the portal _located?_ " The man looks unalarmed, but his tone differs. His tone is impatient, almost desperate.

 

Looking around, the old man eyes the hill. Shaking his head, he whispers. "Not here, not here. All your clues, all your sources, and yet you still look in the wrong places."

 

The man looks around the hill. In the air, screams. Blood, guts, gore. The death eaters are being torn apart, slowly; piece by piece. "I repeat, Rookwood. Where is the portal?"

 

The old man shakes his head. Whispering, he says. "I already told you, _Inquisitor_. You are so close, yet so far away."

 

The man, The Inquisitor, has a cold look in his eye. "Rookwood, I will ask you one last time- where is the _PORTAL_?!"

 

Shaking his head, the old man chuckles. "I see no purpose in telling you, not when I am the father of time."

 

The man takes deep breathes- "Rookwood; I repeat: where is the portal?"

 

The old man, Augustus Rookwood, turns to face the Inquisitor- "The portal? Gone." Smiling, he looks around the bloody hill- "All this destruction, for nothing? Isn't that what you were looking for, Inquisitor? The location of my portal?"- The screams have all died down; what were once people are now shreds of muscle and bone. "You may strike terror to the masses, but I have seen terror. I have seen it, I have experienced it. I have lived through it, coped with it. I have _survived_ it. I will not bow down to your will; not now, not ever."

 

"You may feel the need to rid of my friend, my companions, my family, but I am never alone. You and your society, they aim to get rid of the death eaters once and for all. They aim to erase our names, erase us as people. They aim to destroy our lives, erase us from the course of history. But even if you kill all of us, you will never destroy our impact. You can erase our legacies, our achievements; but you can not erase who we have touched, who we have loved, admired. We will live on, for now and forever. Remember that, Inquisitor. Remember that,-"

 

"And for what reason should I, Rookwood? You disgust me, in all ways. Your deeds? Despicable. Your achievements? Minor. Your family legacy? Gone. What do you have left Rookwood? What do you have left to proud of?" Curling his lip in disgust, the Inquisitor walks around. Examining the various shreds of bone, muscle, and skin, he turns to his followers. "You are all dismissed. Return home, you have done well. Macmillan? I wish to speak to you later, when I am done with this scum. Stay."

 

As the rest of the followers leave, Macmillan stands around and picks at the grotesque remains of the now dead Death Eaters. He examines the muscles, the bones, the skin. He examines the blood stained remains of fabric, and he smiles. “My lord, how do we dispose of these ruins?”

 

The Inquisitor, without turning, replies: “Leave them- Let the authorities find them; after all, no one will doubt it is yet another atrocity of the Death Eaters.” Turning to face the old man, he knees down so that he and Rookwood are face-to-face. “Now Rookwood, where is your portal?”

 

The old man’s face is impassive, as he speaks. “You intend to upset the balance of time. You intend to create massive chaos, by bringing the dead back.”

 

The Inquisitor’s face is empty, as Macmillan’s shows shock. Clearly they were not expecting this.

 

Rookwood smiles, as he continues. “Shame… It’s a rather clever plan, and now it will be ruined. _Porta Tempus Temporis_.”

 

As soon as the spell is uttered, everything changes around the three of them. The sky, slowly approaching dawn; turns a startling white. The hill surrounding them disappears as they find themselves almost hovering over a river of gold. On either sides of the river, are shores. The one on the right is more lively, brighter; more alive. The left side of the river is darker, larger- the land of the dead. Between the shores, lies a river of gold. “Welcome _gentleman_ , to my **_portal_**. Enjoy your stay here.” Rookwood’s tone is one of mocking, one of smugness.

 

“Ah, thank you Rookwood. Shame, now you have no longer have a use. **_Avada Kedavra_**.” The Inquisitor is calm, almost excited. As Rookwood’s body falls, he smiles in delight. Yet, there is no look of surprise on Rookwood’s face- only calm. “The old fool was too confident for his own good- the _father of time_?” Sneering, he continues. “He may have made significant contributions to the field of time, but that sense of power has gone to his head.”

 

Shaking his head, he eyes the river they are hovering above. Around them, the pieces of the Death Eaters are sinking- distance between the pieces and the river is slowly decreasing. As distance closes up, the waters start to bubble. Almost as if the waters are allergic to the pieces, the riverbed bubbles and fizzes and overflows. The once calm river of gold is now multiplying rapidly, as the mutilated pieces and Rookwood’s body fall towards it.

 

What happened next, no one could explain. Almost like a chain reaction, the minute the pieces hit the river all hell breaks loose. The river water, once calm, explodes violently. The water overflows onto both sides of the shores, but what is interesting is the fact that there are almost silhouettes people in the water now. “Yes, yes. Yes.” The Inquisitor’s tone is quiet, yet in awe. “ _Yes_.”

 

“My lord…” Macmillan’s tone is almost hesitant, yet he does so anyway.

 

“Yes, Macmillan?” The Inquisitor’s tone is one of annoyance, one of anger.

 

“Are we almost done here? This realm... This realm is unnatural.” Macmillan whispers this, in a near quiet tone.

 

Amused, the Inquisitor looks around the land they are around. “Almost… I just need to leave a signal if anyone stumbles upon this.” Then, tilting his head slightly he pulls his wand out. Slashing letters into the air above him, he admires the blood red letters that appear. “Let’s go, Macmillan. Follow me, from this point onwards.”

 

“Of course, my Lord.” Macmillan scurries after the Inquisitor, like a shadow.

 

The river is in a state of chaos. The souls of the dead are returning to their bodies, in the land of the living. The bodies will reform, shape when the souls arrive. The thick, definite line that defined the difference between life and death is now blurred, nonexistent. The river overflows, spilling death after death into a land they are foreign to now. Yet, this is not the most prominent part.

 

Because above it all is a message in a bloodlike red: _The Inquisitor is always watching_.


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: (To understand the context of this chapter)
> 
> \- Ted Tonks had a brother (muggle) called Edward Tonks. He has a son called David, who has three children. In order by age: Ethan (non-magic), Vivian (magic), and Ben (magic).  
> \- And for people who are complaining about OC's.. there won't be THAT many. Most characters will be canon, but Next Gen is so fragile you have to have OC's.   
> \- The explanation behind that is they have different mothers... there's a few hints within the chapters themselves.  
> \- My headcanon is that dear Scorpius grows up with the name 'Edward' as a tribute to the OC brother. (It's a lot better than it seems, trust me. And if you're a canon whore like me, it's honestly not THAT bad.)  
> \- Draco considers the Death Eaters to be the family he never had, and the Tonks are just as close to him as well.  
> \- Where is Astoria? You'll see her and more canon characters in later chapters.  
> \- The revival comes in later, now I'm getting the basic premise set up.   
> \- If you're reading this far, you're awesome. I hope you enjoy!

The Daily Prophet sits there, innocently. Around it, the inhabitants of the house stare in horror at the heading on the front page: DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN.

A man with thinning blond hair is the first to break the silence. Running his hair through his hair, he whispers: “No. No, no, no… They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t.”

An older man, in his seventies, Edward Tonks sighs. Rubbing his temple, he says quite simply: “Let’s go to the living room.” Under his breath he mutters, “You know Ted, maybe if you didn’t turn out to be a wizard and didn’t get involved with a bunch of incestuous bluebloods, then maybe I wouldn’t be knee-deep in this world.”

“You know Ed, now is not the time! You can complain about your dear unfortunate brother later!” Draco Malfoy’s cross tone did not do the old man any favours.

Sighing, the old man enters the living room. Sitting down, he eyes the newspaper. The tension is the room is so thick, that you could cut it with a knife. “Draco, why don’t yo-”

“There is no way, that they would want to escape. There is no way that would be somewhat possible. This has to be a ploy of some sort. A conspiracy. A… a… plot to rid of the Death Eaters.” Draco stops pacing the room, stops running his hand through his hair. “This wouldn’t be possible… not for a long shot. They would have no reason to even want to escape; most of them wouldn’t even have a place to go. They’d be so lost…” 

Draco’s voice trails off as he sits down. Grasping the armrest, he looks faint, nauseous. Shaking his head, he continues “There’s no way… no way that’s possible. I can’t accept this. I just can not accept this…”

Slowly, the old man moves next to Draco. “That’s because you don’t need to; not right now. I’m sure there’s another explanation for this, okay? Maybe the ministry just had a mishap, maybe they just made yet another mistake. I’m sure there’s another explanation for this.”

“But what if there isn’t? The article doesn’t say where they are, Ed. It just says that they escaped. Nothing more.” His last sentence is barely above the sound of a whisper. “It means that they could be on the run, living; it also means they could be dead. They could be anywhere, everywhere. 

“I know where they are, Ed. I know exactly where they are.” At this point, Draco’s face has paled, and he looks like he will be sick. 

“I know exactly where they are.” The old man, Edward Tonks, knows exactly what Draco is implying. He knows it well, better than he knows himself. He knows exactly what it means. “Does it hurt less, if you share no biological relations? Does it?”

“Yes, and no. It hurts less, because technically, it shouldn’t. Because technically- they aren’t your family. They’re family by choice, not blood. By choice. But choice hurts more… It’s the fact you chose these people- you trusted them enough. It makes it worse, because by blood you have no choice. You have no choice in that matter whatsoever. They’re going to be there, no matter what. Through thick and thin, you never stop caring. They’re always going to be there for you, no matter what. By choice, no. No. You trusted them; you loved them enough to call them your family. It only makes it worse. It only makes it worse Ed. At least with Ted, you had no choice in deciding whether you cared for them or not. I did… look what happened. Look what happened.” Even though Draco is not crying, his despair does show. He whispers now. “The last time I remember the mark burning this bad was when he fell. When he finally died. It was like my arm was on fire. It burned this morning, near dawn. My arm didn’t burn that bad, then, but there’s a difference. When he fell… I was happy that he was gone. I celebrated… Now? I feel like someone tore my heart out and shattered it. Like they took my heart, destroyed it with a hammer, took a few pieces of it; then they returned it. Now I have to reassemble it.”

“What did you do? When you heard about Ted’s death?” The look in Draco Malfoy’s eyes is desperate, frantic. 

The old man closes his eyes. “I don’t think you remember, but I had a friend, who I co-ran the bar with. I think I must’ve told him to hit me up with everything he had, and I honestly don’t know how many drinks I had that night.” Grimacing at the memory, he continues. “I don’t remember anything from that night, except waking up a horrible hangover the next day.”

“Does drinking... drinking, help with grief?” 

Edward Tonks shakes his head. “No, it never does. I think you should know that by now, with how much time you actually spend with it.”

“I know, but still. Has it ever helped you?” His breathing is shallow and inconsistent, and he looks like he’s about to cry.

“No, it never has. It allows you a few hours to forget it, but that’s about it. All it gives you is a few hours of peace, then you go through the shock again.” Shaking his head, he tells Draco. “In the long run, it just makes grieving more painful.”

Draco nods and closes his eyes. Tilting his head back he whispers, “They were my family. They were my everything.”

“I know, Draco, I know.”

~~~~~

“What does he mean, uncle David? That they were his everything?” A fourteen year old is asking his uncle.

“What it meant…” Grimacing, he asks. “You overheard your dad’s conversation didn’t you? There’s a lot more to this, if that’s what you mean.”

“There’s a lot more to what? I’m not a kid, uncle Dave!” His tone is impatient, and annoyed; yet he waits for an answer.

“I know, but you have to understand that prior to your birth- the Death Eaters were his family.” Making the fourteen year olds bed, he tucks the blankets in and places the pillow at the head of the bed. Then, he sits down on the bed and pats the space next to him. “Come here.”

“What?” The fourteen year old scowls, but nevertheless sits down on the bed. Crossing his arms, he asks: “Why did he call them his family? I’m his family, and I always will be his family. Why?”

The man, David Tonks, replies with a frank answer. “Because it was the Death Eaters who he truly trusted for the first time. It was them, who he loved. They were the family he never had, and they were what rebuilt him-” Turning around, he faces the fourteen year old. “I don’t know if Draco told you about his years in Azkaban, or not. Did he?”

The fourteen year old nods. “He did.”

“Did he tell you any specifics, or just the dates?” The thirty- something man asks, and receives a firm ‘no’ in response. “Of course. Of course.” He mutters under his breath, and says in a louder tone: “Well, you know that Draco-” 

“-Dad-”, the fourteen year old corrects.

“-spent around seven or eight years in Azkaban the first time around. I’d say he spent all his time talking to the Death Eaters. To all the ones that were there, because partly no one else understood and that they were at the top of the food chain in Azkaban. I’d say the Death Eaters genuinely were the most powerful, most elite of the people that lived there. As a result, they only had themselves to talk to. Which, in all likelihoods, is probably why they Draco started calling them his family- at the time.” 

The older man gives the fourteen year old a nod, and then continues. “You have to understand, they only had each other for those years. They only did have each other… and with the way Azkaban is set up, you have to have a support group of some kind. Otherwise, you're doomed.” Shaking his head, he continues. “That’s why Draco calls them his family. It’s not because he doesn’t consider you his family- he does and he never shuts up about it- it’s that they replaced the family he lost faith in.”

The fourteen year old stands up, and peeks down the staircase. His dad, and granddad are still sitting there. “Will dad be alright? I’ve never seen him this upset.”

David Tonks sighs. “I hope so… I need Draco at work tonight. It’s a Monday, and I’m going to need all the help I can get. Especially with dad getting older, and all you kids… But he won’t let the grief show, if that’s what you mean. He’ll act like he’s okay.”

“But why?”

“He’s never been taught to show weakness.” David Tonks shrugs, and elaborates. “It’s the pureblood ideology of not showing weakness, or something like that.” 

Leaving the room, he goes to catch a glimpse of Draco. He returns only minutes later, and grimaces. Closing the door, he confesses. “I have never seen Draco this broken. I have to this day never seen Draco is desperate.” 

Opening the door, he tells the fourteen year old: “C’mon, let’s go get the three sleepyheads up. It’s already ten; they’ve had enough sleep.”

Cracking a smile, the fourteen year old grins. “Am I allowed to do whatever I want with Viv?”

“Yes, whatever you want. I’ll get Ethan and Ben up. In the meantime, I’ll tell them about it. It’ll get better, slowly, but it will get better. It may not seem like it, but it will. We just have to wait.”

The fourteen year old nods, then walks down the hall¬ to the bathroom. Grabbing a bucket from a closet, he fills it up all the way. Grinning, he whispers. “Morning, Viv…” 

Holding the bucket in one hand, he opens the door next to his bedroom. In the bed is a girl with veela-blonde hair, her limbs flopping all over the bed. Her head is rested in the center of the pillow, which is located on the edge of the bed. He tilts the bucket, and the water lands all over the girl’s head. Almost immediately, the girl stirs. However, due to her sleeping position, she ends up falling on the floor. “SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY, I will castrate you if it is the LAST thing I do.”

“Aww Viv, I love you too.” Poking his tongue out at the girl, he watches her untangle herself from her blankets. Laughing, he continues. “You know, the last time I checked I went by a different name; one that wasn’t my full name.”

Groaning, the girl replies. “I know; but being named after a balls-less stalker vampire that sparkles in sunlight isn’t exactly what one would consider better.”

“You’re forgetting that it’s the name of your granddad.” Forcing a smile, he continues: “Besides-”

The girl narrows her eyes, and asks quite sharply: “Ed, what’s wrong? You’re acting weird, and something must have happened. What happened?”

“Dad got some bad news… Some really bad news…” 

The girl pales. “Where is uncle Draco?”

“He’s downstairs… Viv… I don’t know what to do. I saw him earlier, and I’ve never seen his so… so…” His light brown hair starts to change colour, abruptly. It ranges from colours from black, all the way to yellow. 

The girl sits on the floor next to him. “It’s okay to lose control, Ed, it’s okay. Breathe… It’ll be okay… Take deep breaths…”

The boy starts sobbing, and no amount of control can stop it. The girl lets him, as he uses her as a tissue.

**Author's Note:**

> :D I hope you enjoy!


End file.
